Page 39 of Black Heart

Tristan casually leaned against the doorframe while he smiled warmly at her as though this was a pleasant visit. She inwardly scoffed at that.

This was an ass-kicking!

“Why, Marty, what a pleasant surprise to see you here,” Tristan drawled as he studied his nails. “Didn’t you have a date tonight?”

“You,” that one word seethed with uncontrollable rage, “bastard.”

“Me? What did I do?” Tristan asked, pressing his hand against his chest.

“You…You…” She had to take a deep, calming breath just to get the words out. “You gave me a,” Marty paused to look around, making sure that no one was within earshot and hissed, “a hickey!”

“I did?” Tristan asked, looking thoughtful. “You’d think I’d remember doing something like that.”

“You marked me, you prick!”

“Are you sure? Because I really can’t recall doing something like that,” Tristan drawled, absently scratching his bare chest.

Her hands clenched by her sides as she prayed for patience or a baseball bat to beat his ass with, either would be welcomed at the moment. She tilted her head to the side to expose the mark. Not that she really needed to do that since it was hard to miss.

“So, I did. Sorry about that,” Tristan said around a yawn, not really sounding all that sorry.

No, he looked smug.

“Everyone at work saw it!” Marty snapped. Damn, if that didn’t make him look even smugger. “Some of them asked if I had a run-in with a vacuum!”

At that, he laughed.

Laughed!

“It’s not funny!” Marty snapped, glaring up at the smug bastard that was going to pay for this as he laughed harder. “It’s not!”

Sighing, Tristan reached over and traced his mark with a fingertip. “Come on, it doesn’t look that bad.”

* * *

It did.

It really fucking did.

There was no way that Hank was going to be happy about this.

She stood there fuming, looking so damn upset that he couldn’t help but feel bad about what he did. Not that he regretted ruining her date because she was his and, really, by this point, she should have realized that. He reached out to take her hand in his only to have Marty pull it out of his reach.

“Why don’t you come inside and we’ll talk it over and order some food? Then, if you’re still angry, you can kick my ass, okay?” Tristan suggested, praying like hell that he could fix this. He wanted to spend the night holding her in his arms, not fighting over petty bullshit.

Marty eyed him for a moment before her scowl disappeared and was replaced by a warm smile, making him understandably nervous. “That sounds great. Let’s go,” she said, seeming pleased as she stepped past him and walked inside.

Well, that was easy. A little too easy. He’d expected to have to beg, apologize, and ultimately chase her down and drag her back. Ignoring every instinct in his body that was shouting for him to run, Tristan stepped back inside and closed the door.

The lock barely had a chance to click into place before he was shoved against the door and his arms were swiftly brought behind his back. He felt the handcuffs wrap around his wrists before it registered in his mind that he was seriously fucked. Damn, he forgot about Hank teaching her how to take down an unsuspecting criminal when she was five, you know, just in case she happened to come across one on the playground.

Grinning, Tristan turned around to face her. “Is that all you have for me, baby?”

“That and more,” Marty promised in a pleased tone that let him know that she thought she’d won.

She really should have known better than that by now.

He shook his head, sighing. “I’m really disappointed in you, baby.”

---